Games with the Enemy
by The Bewitched One
Summary: Hermione Granger's life was saved by Draco Malfoy and ten years later, Malfoy wants paid.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K Rowling and she'd probably hate what I'm doing with them but alas! I cannot help myself.

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The Great Hall had not changed in almost a decade.

The long benches were exactly the same, if only a little more weathered. Long tapered candles floated, midair, and above them, the Enchanted Ceiling sparkled like the summer night sky, Venus shimmering in a multitude of colours. A meteorite streaked against the black sky, blazing a trail that reminded her of chalk against a blackboard.

Standing at the entrance to the Hall, indeed it seemed as though the only things that had really changed, were the students.

Taking her seat beside Harry, Hermione found herself facing the Slytherin table and her eyes ran along the former students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a deep sense of nostalgia settled heavily in her stomach. No matter how well she did in her life, she still missed the relative light heartedness of school, and even, dare she admit it, her enemies.

Pupils she did not recognise narrowed their eyes at her simply because she was positioned at the Gryffindor table or perhaps, she thought, dropping her chin into her hand, it was because she was sandwiched between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"Here we are," Ron said, raising his goblet, "ten years after Hogwarts, still single and as hopeless as ever." Harry chuckled, his too-long hair as untidy as ever flopping over his forehead.

"Not as hopeless as Neville," he replied, draining his goblet which automatically refilled. Hermione traced the engraving of the Hogwarts shield on her own golden goblet, listening to the pleasant chatter of her former classmates. It felt so nice to be in their company again, even if nothing much had changed between them.

"Hey Neville," Ron called, gesturing to an empty space opposite them, "come sit." Personally Hermione thought Neville Longbottom had grown up nicely; gone was all his puppy fat, his hair was cut in nearly and he dressed in smart, sharp robes. He waved back, sliding unto the long bench.

"Can you believe it?" he asked, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "It's like no time as passed at all." Harry nodded, his glasses askew on his nose. "Your victory over Voldemort is told on every drunken night at The Three Broomsticks," Neville said. No one was afraid to utter the Dark Lord's name now and it felt as though the wizarding world had somehow been liberated. "Good evening Hermione, you look lovely." Ron craned his neck, as though only noticing her pretty aubergine dress for the first time.

"Thank you, Neville," she replied pointedly. Her eyes flew to the entrance and her heart stilled in her chest. Draco Malfoy's artic blue eyes swept across the Great Hall, pausing momentarily on their table, on _her_, before moving on to the Slytherin table where his expression changed to one of instant recognition.

Unclipping the intricate, shiny silver clasp on his cloak, Draco slid the heavy black garment from his shoulders, his attire sharp and pristine beneath. Hermione watched as he draped his cloak over his arm and much to her surprise, he took a seat at the end of the Slytherin table and not, as she had expected, by Crabbe and Goyle.

Dropping her gaze to the empty silver plate between her elbows, Hermione cursed her curiosity. Rumours about the mysterious Draco Malfoy had circulated among wizard families for almost a decade, ranging from speculation that he was dead to whispers that he was locked up in Azkaban for the murder of his father, Lucius. Few people, including her, expected him to attend their reunion.

Even now, after he had taken his place and reached for his goblet, his expression impassive, whispers passed between the tables. Beside Neville, Colin Creevy glanced over his shoulder.

"A criminal of the worst kind," he murmured, "no remorse." Harry blinked, finding Malfoy's cool gaze.

"He's not a criminal," Harry replied slowly. Everyone within ear-shot stopped talking, their gazes swinging towards him, mouths agape. "Mean-spirited, perhaps, but he killed Lucius to save another." Hermione focused her attention on the table, the tops of her cheeks pink. Inside her chest, her heart fluttered rapidly and she swallowed hard, willing herself to be calm.

"When has Malfoy ever tried to save anyone but himself?" Neville asked and it was startlingly unlike him to comment badly on anyone. Hermione's gaze lifted, settling on her friend's face. Harry had stopped talking and she felt the weight on his eyes on her. Straightening her spine, Hermione inhaled sharply. "Malfoy saved _you_?" Neville asked, in voice high with disbelief. "Surely not!" It was no secret that Draco Malfoy considered her to be the lowest of all witches.

"Voldemort's followers knew that the easiest way to defeat Harry was take what was most important to him. Ron was stronger than me and he escaped… I was held prisoner by Lucius Malfoy and other Death Eater," her trembling fingers tucked her hair behind her ear as she recalled the wet, cold night that she had been tied up, robbed of her dignity. In some dreams, she could still see their wands poised, the unforgivable curse on their lips. "Draco saved me." Three words Hermione would never have believed. As if of their own accord, her eyes found him again and she found him looking back, the icy blue irises of his eyes bright, despite the candle light. He blinked slowly and her breath burned in her lungs.

"You don't own him anything," Ron insisted sharply, as if reading her expression. Pulling her gaze away, Hermione turned back to her friend.

"I owe him my _life_," she replied tightly. No one spoke, possibly because no one could believe that Draco Malfoy had murdered his father to save 'mudblood' Hermione Granger. The truth of the rumours had been known only to she and her two friends and now that former pupils of Gryffindor knew, she felt doubly indebted.

A tinkle at the teacher's table silenced the room and everyone's eyes swung to Headmistress McGonagall, who had barely changed at all in the past ten years. Her eyes were still shrewd and her tone still sharp if even a little bit kind.

"Thank you for coming," she began, smiling fondly, "it is wonderful to see all your faces again. I barely recognised some of you," her gaze lingered on Neville, as though she were thinking exactly the same as Hermione. "We decided to host this little reunion while our current students were at home for the summer, so your old dormitories are available tonight.

"Now that you are all grown up, the wine is plentiful and I ask you to consume as much as what can be considered sensible," she lifted her goblet, "and enjoy meeting your old friends again!" Students from all four houses raised their goblets and the feast began.

Hermione wished she was hungry enough to enjoy the delicious food that appeared along the table, but her stomach felt heavier than lead as the weight of her past reminded her constantly of who she owed her life to. Another cursory glance across the room revealed that Draco was not eating either. His head was bowed, his fingers tight around his goblet. He had become such a devilishly handsome man; dangerously handsome, in fact.

Slipping her legs over the edge of the bench, Hermione stood. "I'll be back shortly," she promised her friends, her heels clacking heavily on the stone floor as she strode between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, the delicate chiffon of her dark purple dress fluttering behind her. Keeping her eyes focused intently on the entrance, she clenched her jaw.

Outside in the empty hallway, she braced her hand against the wall and inhaled a steadying breath. Despite her own insistence that she did not owe Malfoy anything, she felt eternally indebted and she wondered if her dreams, her secret and illicit dreams about him were, indeed, life's way of ensuring she forever paid the price of her survival.

Pressing her fingertips to her chest, she felt her heart flutter crazily against the soft skin there and she wondered how many nights she had woken in bed, drenched in sweat with Draco's name on the tip of her tongue.

"Alright there, Granger?"

Hermione kept her back to the door, despite the overwhelming urge to spin towards the owner of the voice. "Good evening, Draco," she replied stiffly. Inside the Great Hall the chatter was almost enough to drown out the din of her heartbeat inside her eardrums. "How are you?" Her fingers clawed at the rough stone walls, her spine achingly stiff as she kept her back turned.

"Beginning to know how Potter feels," he replied dryly, "being the topic of conversation and all that." Hermione stiffed, turning at last. He hated the haunted ice in his eyes, that intensified her belief that she owed him so much. She hated being indebted, especially to someone as mean and cold as Malfoy.

"What have you been doing, Draco?" Hermione asked, her curiosity stronger than her desire never to speak to him again.

"Best if you don't know," he replied. Hermione noticed that he was wearing his cloak again, the silver clasp glinting in the flickering flames that lit the castle. "You'd probably think I was lying." His tone had changed, she noticed. As cold as he still was, there was no malice – at least, not as there had once been, all those years ago. She suspected that he called her Granger out of habit. He had done it _that_ night, too.

"What _happened_ to you, Draco?" she asked, folding her arms across her torso. He straightened, tall and proud, despite the years of torment that was evident in his eyes. "Did they catch you?" His jaw was tight and Hermione held her breath, expecting great amounts of anger to spill forth from his lips. After a long moment, however, he swung the edge of his cloak over his shoulder, moving forward.

"Of course they did," he replied darkly. "I murdered my _father_," he hissed. Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry. Her eyes stung with guilt. Despite hating Lucius with every fibre in her body, she felt tremendously bad that she had torn Draco's life apart. Her.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, brushing her hair from her cheeks. Draco slid his hands into his pockets, his broad shoulders filling the space between two flaming torches. She caught his eye and saw the softer, less menacing side of the Slytherin boy.

"You owe me _nothing_," he insisted roughly. "Not that I'd take anything from you anyway." Hermione nodded; she had long since learned to accept that Malfoy would never see her as anything of any worth. She would always be the mudblood girl who had no right to practice magic. "That's not true," he muttered, back against the wall. She blinked, frowning tightly. "I wish I could say I haven't thought about you," his voice was a hurried whisper, fierce and somehow frightening. Hermione held her breath, wondering if perhaps Draco had dreamt forbidden things about her, too. "You _haunt_ me," his eyes narrowed, cool and almost silver in the light. "When I close my eyes it's not him that I see," Draco hissed in reference to his father. "It's…"

"'Mione!" They both jumped and Draco slid into the shadows as Hermione turned to the entrance where Harry stood, goblet in hand. "What are you doing out here?" She felt her skin prickle with cold anticipation and she trembled.

"I'm coming now," she insisted with a wave of her hand, urging him back into the warmth of the Hall. Turning slowly back to the Draco, she folded her arms around herself. "I do owe my life to you," she admitted in a low whisper, "but I didn't ask you to save me." Malfoy's roved her face, drinking in the image of her, womanly and still as youthfully beautiful as she had been as a virginal eighteen year old. After a moment, his gaze shifted, following the curves of her body beneath her dress; supple and firm.

"Want to know what's kept me awake?" he asked, the lurid implication hanging in the air between them. She stepped back, shaking her head.

"No," she insisted, "I do not."

His laughter, cold as ever, followed her back into the Great Hall. It was not this that bothered Hermione Granger, however.

What distracted her for the remainder of the night was that she really ached to hear what he would have said. Her burning questions were almost answered and her pride had forced her to refuse to listen. Each time she caught his eye, he smirked, his forbidden thoughts always on the tip of his tongue and as the plates were cleared and the music began, Hermione wished she could just go to bed and have a Draco-less night sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine. J K Rowling owns everyone in this story.

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Her stinking mood lingered into the night, and by twelve thirty, she was tired of the idle chitchat and surprised by the intensity of her own annoyance towards those who wanted to dwell on the topic of Draco.

To their credit, Harry and Ron did not speak of him again, their conversation ranging from Quidditch to the goings on in the Ministry of Magic. She felt comfortable and reassured in their presence, as though she were being watched over by her two brothers. Harry's green eyes searched her face every now and again and she struggled to smile, often hiding her lips behind her goblet of wine.

"You can't let it spoil your night," he said eventually, when Ron had slid four spaces along the bench to chat with Oliver Wood. "Feeling like you owe him something is only going to make you miserable." Harry shifted his glasses atop his nose and Hermione thought he looked just like the pictures of his father. "And it's certainly not making him feel any better." Hermione glanced across to the Slytherin table where some of Malfoy's old Quidditch pals were sitting around him, talking in hushed whispers; probably reliving glory days against Gryffindor.

"I don't suspect it does," she agreed, peering into the ruby liquid, finding that she was drinking it now purely for the sake of it. Despite this, she emptied the goblet, pushing it away when the beaker automatically refilled again. "I've missed this place," she said to Harry, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. Some of the candles had gone out, intensifying the stars. "It's like coming home, in the oddest of ways." Perhaps it was her bookishness, but Hermione had never felt so confident and comfortable anywhere as she had at Hogwarts.

"This was my home," Harry said, following her gaze. "Tomorrow we'll all be back in London and this school will sit in its time-warp, never changing. It's strangely…"

"Comforting?" Hermione suggested and her friend nodded. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she inhaled deeply. "I'm going to take a walk… refresh my memory a little…" Harry turned back to his goblet. She suspected his thirst for adventure had been quenched with Voldemort. It had seemed, to Hermione at least, that Harry Potter relished the quiet life. "Back soon," she said, dropping her hand to his shoulder.

"Be careful," he told her and she felt a surge of love for her best friend. "Have you got your wand?" Hermione smiled.

"I always have my wand." People might not have been afraid of the Dark Lord anymore, but his existence had taught witches and wizards alike that not all magic was good. "I'll see you back in the common room later?" she asked and Harry waved his hand. The Gryffindor common room had forged many friendships and many secret conversations were embedded in its walls. She couldn't wait to see it again.

Climbing the stairs, Hermione's fingers traced the cold stone railings. On the first landing, a ten foot portrait of their former Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore stood, dressed in his finest robes. His eyes looked down on her from his half-moon glasses and after a long moment, he smiled brightly. "Ah," he said with a chuckle, "Ms Granger…" Hermione felt her eyes mist, recalling with such clarity the death of the kindest, most wonderful wizard.

"Professor," she said, touching the ornate frame around his picture.

"Wandering the castle?" he asked, turning his eyes to the stairs. Hermione grinned.

"Refreshing my memory," she replied. "It's lovely to be back. It's lovely to see… you." Dumbledore nodded graciously, his eyes twinkling a little. She shifted awkwardly, wondering how she could talk to the portrait without mentioning that he was dead.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly, "you mustn't feel bad for me. I quite enjoy having no responsibility." Her smile was wide as she remembered all the reasons why she adored the man who had kept Hogwarts a safe haven for so many years. "Go on, before Mr Malfoy stops skulking in the doorway down there and starts to follow you." Hermione's head snapped to the entrance of the Great Hall, where Draco stood tall, watching her as an eagle might watch prey. She trembled. "He means you no harm," Dumbledore insisted, drawing her attention back to him. "Go on," he urged and she hurried on, the heels of her shoes raucous against the stone.

Halfway along the corridor, Hermione realised she wanted Draco to follow her and the realisation frightened her. She was a Gryffindor and he a Slytherin and if that wasn't bad enough, he was a Malfoy. A combination of two things which would surely produce a dark wizard. Wanting to spend time with one was just insane.

The portraits followed her, their eyes taking in the distressed angles of her face as a private battle raged inside her mind. Downstairs, two of her best friends and two of Malfoy's greatest enemies were unaware of the dreams and dare she admit it, fantasies, that had plagued her since the night Draco had torn into that dark room and condemned his father to death.

Ascending another flight of stairs, Hermione climbed and climbed until she was breathless, her heart beating fast from her efforts. By the time she reached the Astronomy Tower she was pulling deep breaths into her lungs, wondering if the 'off limits' rule applied to students after they had left. Dropping to the spiral stairs, Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees. She was darkly aware of her own childishness as she rocked on the cold steps. She had been so excited about spending time with Harry and Ron again. Their busy lives ensured that they only got to meet at Christmas and even then, their visits were brief.

Turning her wrist, she saw the delicate and narrow scar directly over her veins; a permanent reminder of what had transpired during her capture. The chains that bound her had marked her forever and, although Hermione knew that no one would ever guess, she felt as though her past was knowledge to everyone. Brushing her thumb over the smooth tissue, she sighed heavily, recalling with vivid clarity the pure evil she had witnessed in Lucius Malfoy's eyes.

"Why are you following me, Draco?" she asked, her head snapping up. Standing in the arched doorway, his presence was oppressive and even without seeing him, Hermione was distinctly aware of him. "Here to tell me what dirty dreams you have?" His icy blue eyes narrowed on her, his tall frame stepping further into the little hallway at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. He seemed to fill it, his wide shoulders almost touching the walls.

"I wish they were dirty," he growled, his cloak brushing his ankles. "I could sleep easily if my dreams considered purely of having my wicked way with you…" Hermione turned her wrist, hiding her scar from his roving eyes. "But I don't, Granger. I… _please_ you. I… touch you like I worship you and…" Hermione lifted her hands, her cheeks pink.

"Stop," she insisted, ashamed to admit that her dreams told such a similar story.

"You don't shout my name, Granger, you… _sigh_ it." She almost sighed it now, her body so distinctly aware of him. "Do you see me as some kind of _hero_?" Clearly he blamed her for his imagination. Hermione shook her head, her dark curls bouncing against her cheeks with the vehemence with which she insisted she did not. Draco's cool blue eyes searched her face and his hands, lightening fast, shot out from the long sleeves of his cloak and snatched her wrist. "Is this what he did to you?" he growled, a raging fire igniting in both his voice and his eyes. Hermione struggled against him, wondering if Dumbledore was right when he said that Malfoy wished her no harm. Did the brilliant Professor see the truth in everyone?

"You are hurting me…" she whispered, her body stilling. At once, he released her. "It's not my fault that you think about me," she tilted her chin in defiance. Draco stepped closer, his body almost flush with hers. Hermione swallowed hard, desperately disturbed by his proximity to her.

"In my dreams you _love_ me," he hissed, his eyes so narrow that only the merest glimmer of blue shone there; bright like a gas flame. Hermione scoffed, willing the hot flush of embarrassment to disappear.

"Well, that's just it, Draco… in your dreams." He laughed, the whites of his teeth startling in the moonlight that glinted through the narrow windows, spilling unto the stone floor beneath their feet. His face was so close to hers that she could smell the pungent aroma of wine on his breath and her eyes fluttered closed, her own breath catching in her throat. "Draco…" she sighed, stumbling backwards. His hands caught her, his arms slipping around her waist and drawing her close to him. His body was hard and defined beneath his robes and her fingers itched to explore the hills and valleys of his muscles.

"Yes," he said softly, "that's just how you would say my name."

His full lips passed over hers, drawing her breath from her lungs. His tongue tasted of grapes as it passed between her teeth, meeting her own. At first, Hermione was stiff in his arms, furious at herself for not fighting him. Within moments, desire flooded her body and she gave into it. Draco's hands moved over her back, his mouth possessing hers. The fierce intensity of his kiss both frightened and exhilarated her and she was powerless to resist it. They weren't children anymore, Hermione knew as his hands roamed her body.

"What is this, Malfoy?" she growled into his mouth, "payback for saving my life?" His fingers curled around her breast, testing its weight in the palm of his hand. She groaned loudly, her nipples hardening in immediate response to his touch.

"Perhaps," he said, urging her nipple into a tight point beneath the chiffon dress she wore. His hips ground against hers and Hermione was aware of his arousal beneath his robes. "In fact," he said with a fierce whisper, "I intend on getting all my rewards." Hermione hated herself for it, but she was not altogether sure that she minded.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: These characters belong to J K Rowling, as does Hogwarts and all its hallways and rooms.

A/N: _I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my story. I want to take this story into MA rated and if there is anyone out there who would like to be added to my mailing list for such chapters, please go to my profile and send me an email. I look forwarding to hearing from you all. _

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Hermione Granger had hated Malfoy in school – had hated everything he represented and more, what he believed about her kind. Draco had been raised in an environment where he was taught that purebloods were the epitome of nobility and witches and wizards from non-magical families were worthless. Lucius had taught his only son to believe that the world needed to be rid of mudbloods.

She could not understand, for the life of her, why he had her backed against the Astronomy Tower wall, the cool stone sending trembles along her spine. Nor could she understand why she was as receptive to him as he was to her. His soft moans against her lips spoke not to hatred but a yearning to possess. Had Malfoy always felt this way? Even when she was a seventeen year old schoolboy?

Her hands slid beneath the folds of his robes, encountering rough black cotton that hung loosely over his body. Her fingertips felt the hard muscle beneath his clothes and she opened her eyes, finding herself staring into irises that were almost grey in the dim light. She saw a mixture of so many fierce emotions and a reflection of her own desire.

Draco.

Cruel, unkind Draco Malfoy, his hands roughly cupping her breast as though he owned her. If only he knew how many noble and kind men had tried to win her heart. Perhaps he did know. Perhaps his abilities to read minds were as finely turned as his abilities to wound one's self-esteem. She saw a wicked sense of confidence in his eyes and she trembled as his fingers slid into her dress, her nipple pressed against his palm. He broke their kiss, leaning back to assess how his touch had affected her. Hermione felt his thumb stroke her nipple and the fact that their gazes never parted aroused her more; what did Draco feel when she seen her like this?

"Is this a game to you?" she sighed, her fingers encircling his wrist. She felt the tendons of his hand flex. "Does it amuse you to see me like this? At your mercy?" Draco pulled his hand away, straightening his spine. He looked furious, his jaw tight.

"Do I look amused to you, Granger?" he retorted sharply, brushing past her, his long legs ascending the stairs to the top of the tower. She turned, watching his retreating back, her cheeks flaming crimson at the knowledge of what had just transpired between them.

"You know, _Malfoy, _it would be good manners to call me Hermione." He stilled, the sharp angles of his shoulder-blades protruding against the heavy material of his cloak. She shifted against the stone, her body aching to for his touch; she was a traitor to herself. "Do you call me Granger because you are afraid of the implications of treating me as an equal?" Draco turned with slow deliberation. In the moonlight, he had eyes as silver as the clasp that held his cloak. Now that she had his attention, Hermione asked him the question that had kept her awake for so many long nights. "Why did you save me, Draco?" Something changed in his expression, as though a smidgen of his resolve disappeared. The tight pride in his posture slipped and he descended towards her slowly.

"I heard your screams…" he whispered, turning to the window. The moonlight reflected the blond of his too-long hair, bathing his skin in a white glow. He looked ghostly, almost, but no less oppressive. "The rattling chains and I knew they were torturing you. My father… he said it was for the necessary evil. He said…" Draco shook his head a little, his knuckles tight as his fingers curled into a fist. "He said no one except Potter and Weasley would miss you anyway." Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers finding his sleeve. Draco winced, pulling away as though her touch burned him. "When they left, I watched you through the gap in the door… weak and helpless and I just… _wanted_ to set you free."

"Why?" she asked in a whisper. He sneered.

"You'd like to think it was for some noble reason, wouldn't you, Granger? You'd like to think that I felt something for you… but you're wrong. I wanted you to owe me your life. I wanted you to treat me with respect…" His words burned but she refused to show it, holding tight to the sleeve of his robe.

"But you don't want me to owe you my life," she reminded him, her fingertips brushing his knuckles. Despite himself, Draco's fingers loosened. "Do you want _me_, Malfoy? Is that what this is about? Possession?" He focused on something outside the window and Hermione felt her heart flutter inside her chest. "You saved me because you didn't want me to die." His gaze shifted now, an indication that he was uncomfortable with the path of her analysis. "You kiss me…" _like you have done so for years… _

"Enough," he said firmly, pulling away from her. "You're a…" she stepped back, the insults forming on his lips as he fought a war against his thoughts. Hermione nodded slowly.

"A mudblood," she finished softly. "Indeed I am." Draco was shaking his head, his fingers curling around her biceps, so tight she suspected his fingerprints would mark her skin. At that moment, she wasn't especially worried about his roughness. Her eyes widened.

"You might be a mudblood," he growled, "but you're a menace, Granger! A _menace_! You're in my mind, all the time. When I wake up, when I sleep, when I _can't_ sleep! Are you tormenting me… putting a spell on me…?" He shook her, drawing sharp breaths from her lungs. "Why do I want you?" he demanded, releasing her so abruptly that she almost stumbled back. Hermione felt her heart pound erratically inside her chest, her breath burning her lungs. Why _did_ he want her? Why did _she_ want him?

Looking into the silvery bewitchment of his eyes, she felt guilty. "I should go," she supposed aloud, stepping backwards towards the arched entrance to the tower. Malfoy's head fell forward, his gaze falling upon the tops of his black shoes. Inside his robe, his body was tight and she asked herself why she wasn't running for the Great Hall where everything she was familiar with was waiting?

A small, mirthless smile tugged at her lips.

Desiring Draco was not unfamiliar, either and that desire was one thing that she was unable to share with her best friends. How could they ever understand? The boy who had tormented them as school-children was no less dark now, and instead of despising the rugged blackness of his character, Hermione was almost addicted to it.

"Why aren't you leaving then," Draco asked, lifting his eyes but not his head, the effect of which was a distinctly menacing glare. She felt heat flood her cheeks.

"You know I hate you?" she whispered, her fingers curling around the light chiffon skirt of her dress. Draco smiled widely, as though pleased by this. A cry of frustration rose in her chest, tight and desperate for release. Her knuckles hurt. "You are impossible!" she growled, stamping her foot like a petulant child. Malfoy traced his tongue over his lips, as though savouring the taste of their kiss – or perhaps, Hermione thought, that was what she liked to believe.

"I am going to know what it is like to have you, Granger. Maybe not tonight," he reflected sadly, "but it is a foregone conclusion that eventually, one way or another, you will end up in my bed." The words made her tremble; sent a crazy wave of tumultuous desire rippling through her body.

Her breathing shallow, Hermione released the material of her dress, smoothing the creases with a deep sigh. She was a logical woman, and she had been from her earliest teen years. "Perhaps you are right," she admitted reluctantly. "Since I owe you… well… everything that has transpired in the past ten years of my life." Draco's eyes narrowed again, mark of his signature expression.

"This really has nothing to do with payback, Granger, and you know it. That is just a guise that we mutually invented…" she felt hot inside, resenting the stark honesty of his words. "Did you actually believe it?" She couldn't look into his eyes, shimmering like unicorn blood. Slowly, she shook her head. "Didn't think so…" he chuckled, turning back to the window, clearly confident that she was not going to walk away yet.

"You'd be so bad for me…" she sighed, massaging her temples. When she lifted her hand, she caught sight of her scar and remembered just how bad the Malfoy family had already been for her. Draco slid close to her, his cloak brushing her skin.

"You don't know that," he whispered slowly, his lips passing over her chin, teasing her with feathery touches. "I could be very, _very_ good for you." Hermione's fingers slid into the folds of his cloak, her resolve melting with each passing stroke of his tight abdominals. Whatever Draco's profession was, it required strength. Every part of his body was hard.

"I'm leaving," she told him as his tongue reached out to taste her throat. He chuckled and the vibration rumbled through both their bodies.

"No you're not," he replied, his fingers coiling around her wrists. Her instinct was to struggle, but his moist kisses followed the path of her cleavage, his lips whisperingly soft against her skin. "I'll take you here," he promised, the heel of his hand stroking her breast. Her spine arched into him, her hips rotating against his. At that moment, she could almost have agreed to rampant sex, devoid of dignity, against the hard stone wall. "I am going to make you feel _so_ good that you will never forget me, Granger. Never." Still hurtful, she thought, her fingers sliding beneath his black shirt, stroking his smooth skin. "Meet me on the seventh floor," he whispered into her ear, his tongue touching the swirling shell. Hermione groaned, shaking as he released her. "I can't take you back to Slytherin… they'd never accept a Gryffindor in their midst." Her lips tightened. "Oh," he mocked, running a fingertip over her jaw, his touch searing, "What do you expect? Do you want to take me to that little hole in the wall?"

She thought of Ron, Harry, Neville… them all, and she shook her head fiercely.

"Hmm," he sighed, his smile wicked, "didn't think so."

Draco raced off, his cloak billowing behind him. She waited until his footfalls were no longer audible before she composed herself, neatening her hair and smoothing her fingers over her dress. It was impossible not to revert back to the schoolgirl in his presence. A childish crush…

The seventh floor was long but she knew that the Gryffindor common room was too close to where she was expected to meet him. The portraits followed her, watching her and she suspected they would all whisper about her. She caught a glimpse of Draco, pacing before a magical door that Hermione knew well as the Room of Requirement.

He threw it open, and she slid under his arm, breathing a sigh of relief. "I noticed you didn't risk taking me anywhere near the basement… this is mocking my friends." Malfoy unclipped his robe, dropping the garment from his broad shoulders. Her protests died on her lips as she absorbed the extent of his body, tall and slender, dressed entirely in black. He looked wicked and forbidden and she, like the proverbial Eve, ached to sink her teeth into his juicy badness.

For the first time she noticed what the room had conjured up as part of Draco's 'requirement'. She was stunned to find that the room was smaller than she remembered and that the cracked stone halls harboured nothing but a bed; draped with red and gold silken curtains. Her mouth dried as the truth of his intentions became altogether, crystal clear.

"I love this room," Draco drawled, "I love its efficiency." At first words seemed to fail her and eventually she moistened her mouth again.

"What do you mean?" she asked and he levelled his smoky gaze on her.

"It has given me the only thing that I require for tonight…"

As he prowled towards her, more like a Gryffindor lion that a Slytherin serpent, she trembled from head to toe, willing her nerves to be calm.

"If only you knew, Granger…" he whispered, his hands dropping to her hips, "how many nights I have dreamt about you and I and this room…" She released a shaky breath that only enticed him. "I shan't waste it…" he said, and as his fingers gathered the purple chiffon, the material rising over her thighs, she did not doubt he wouldn't.

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_My next chapter will be a saucy rated one. Anyone over 17 interested? _


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